The Search for Meaning
by Paper Pearls
Summary: He knows that many would frown upon it, but Victoire Weasley is Neville's salvation. In the lonely years following the war, she brings him happiness, but does Victoire feel anything for him? One shot.


**This is for day four of Siriusly Smart's iPod challenge. Credit to Mew-Tsubaki for the pairing.**

**OoOoo**

"_Hold my hand,_

_I need you now._

_Slow me down,_

_I don't know how."_

_-Unkle, 'Hold My Hand'_

Everything had changed after the war. It was as though the world had been tipped on its axes, and time moved at once too quickly and too slowly. Neville could still picture Hannah, ducking her pretty blonde head and telling him that she loved him. He didn't understand where all of the hope and joy they shared had gone, or how a couple who had cleaved to one another so eagerly had been silently grateful for their marriage to be annulled. And yet, Neville found that he did. The days had passed so slowly, lacking a certain spark of energy.

"_Are you happy, Hannah?" His voice was quiet, full of trepidation. Neville needed Hannah to recognise that all was not as it should be. She had shrugged._

"_We have a good life. Isn't that enough for you?" It hadn't been. _

For years Neville had searched to find it, this missing element of his life. He was a passionate herbologist, and he possessed a natural flair for teaching, but cultivating young minds hadn't been enough. And then there had been her; _Victoire Weasley_. She blazed with life, engaging and beautiful, and every time she smiled at him, Neville felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He had mused on Victoire more and more often – thinking of her poise and vivaciousness was a sure tonic for a bad mood – and for a time it had been easy to leave the feelings she evoked in him unexamined, until it became obvious to Neville that she thought of him too.

_Victoire frowned slightly, casting her deep blue eyes towards the fire before lifting them back to his face. He was not a vain man, and yet for the first time Neville cursed the grey at his temples, and the fine lines surrounding his eyes. With her typical boldness, Victoire had closed the gap between them, and for one perfect moment her lips had pressed against the corner of his mouth._

"_Night, Professor Longbottom." Seemingly unaware of the sound of his heart pounding against his chest, Victoire had stretched delicately and rose, leaving Neville alone with the truth._

He loved her.

It was wrong on so many levels. Victoire was seventeen, barely a woman, and he was on the wrong side of forty – old enough to be her father. _Her parents were his friends_. They trusted him to watch over her. Neville closed his eyes in pain. It wouldn't matter, because soon Victoire would leave Hogwarts and move on to bigger, better things. She could have anything; she need only reach out with those slender fingers and grasp on to what she wanted.

"Professor Longbottom?" His reverie was interrupted by the very voice that haunted his dreams. She spoke again, her lilting voice hushed. "Neville, are you alright?"

"No, Victoire." He sighed deeply, attempting to ignore the way that trace of a French accent made his blood surge. "I'm not."

"Oh." She came to stand beside him, poking the toe of her army boot through the railing of the balcony. Victoire had inherited all of her mother's beauty and her father's unique style. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No, thank you. I shouldn't have said anything as it is." Neville spoke brusquely, determined to look anywhere but her willowy body. Today she had tied her strawberry blonde hair up on top of her hair, and he longed to run his fingers through it. The thought left him cold with guilt. Victoire had spared a few minutes from her last day of school to say farewell to her boring old professor, and he was being deliberately standoffish to avoid becoming a lecher. _Disgusting_.

"Of course you should. We've talked so much this year about everything, and I'd like it if we could stay friends." Shocked, Neville forgot all about his reluctance to look at her. Victoire was watching him intently. "It's like I'm Victoire and that's enough for you. You appreciate me for who I am, and I care about you too. I don't have to be immaculate, the way mum and Dominique want me to be, and I don't have to be anything that I'm not... If you don't want to, it's fine... I just thought..."

It was Victoire's turn to look away from him, displaying a vulnerability that few ever saw. Before he could stop himself, Neville had cupped her cheek and gently turned her head. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. Realising how the gesture could be interpreted, Neville made to remove his hand, only to find that Victoire stopped him. His breath hitched as she stroked the inside of his wrist with her fingertips, her eyes never leaving his.

Slowly, so that she could stop him if she wished to, Neville moved closer to Victoire and kissed her, attempting to convey the purity of the awe he felt for her, how much she meant to him, and how sorry he was for being less than what she deserved. He slid his tongue into her mouth, savouring the precious contact and waiting for her to push him away. _She didn't_. Instead, Victoire's arms twined softly around his shoulders. She gave a sigh that brought Neville back to reality with a suddenness for which he was unprepared.

"Merlin, I'm sorry." He watched as Victoire brought a hand to her lips, looking slightly dazed. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Her voice cracked. Victoire folded her arms around herself and bit her lip, staring intently at the ground. Her eyes were overly bright, brimming with tears that she was too proud to let fall.

"I didn't mean anything by it. I promise you, Victoire." Neville winced as she turned her back on him and wiped her eyes. The sloping curve of her bare shoulder looked utterly appealing in her sun dress. He reached out and touched her skin, hating himself as she jerked away.

"Why are you sorry, Neville? Why would you kiss me if you didn't want to... to..." She looked at him, her face contorted with grief, "If you didn't want to be with me?"

The question was whispered, barely audible over the rustle of the leaves on nearby trees, and at first Neville thought he had misheard.

"Silly girl. How could I not want you? How could _anyone_ not want you?" Neville's voice was hoarse, but he carried on speaking. _He had to make her understand_. "You're so bloody lovely, Victoire. You're clever, you're gorgeous, and you make me feel alive. I'm sorry because I shouldn't have done that; you deserve more than I could ever give you."

"What?" Victoire wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, no less attractive for crying.

"You're so young, and you look so innocent. I know it's wrong-" Neville broke off as one of her tapering fingers pressed against his mouth. She looked up at him fiercely, tendrils of her hair blowing in the light breeze.

"Shh. I'm not innocent; I'm yours." As she stood before him, Victoire was at once invincible and delicate. Lightly, Neville wiped away the traces of her tears. He wished his hands weren't calloused by years of working with botany, but as Victoire leant into his touch, it ceased to matter. They shared another tender kiss.

"Your family will disapprove." Neville struggled to contain his amusement as her eyebrows rose.

"You say that as though you think it'll stop me." Rolling her eyes, Victoire stood on her tiptoes for another kiss. She sighed impatiently when Neville stopped her. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Victoire until they were gasping for air, but there wasn't anything more important than having her happy.

"I'm too old for you." Neville tried to suppress his fear that Victoire would simply leave, taking her easy joy and warmth away with her. She moved back slightly, as though to evaluate him with her gaze.

"I don't think I'd feel this way if that were true. It's... just right, I think."

"I'm not exactly Prince Charming, Victoire." She snorted in response, mouth twitching in a way that told Neville she was making a valiant effort not to laugh.

"I'm not Cinderella either. I'd rather wear something tatty than a ridiculous ball gown, for starters, and I'd never put up with everything she did." She coaxed a smile from him effortlessly. "Seriously, thought, I wouldn't have you any other way; so rugged... handsome..." Victoire pretended to swoon, and Neville caught her with ease, "strong..."

"How do I know that you won't get tired of me?" He tried to keep his tone playful, but the thought was agonising.

"I've been trying to tell you that I loved you since Christmas, Neville. You probably don't remember that kiss – it was nothing, really – but I wanted you to notice." Victoire's hand found his, and she twined their fingers together.

"You really don't know what it is that you do to me." His heart skipped a beat as a rosy blush bloomed on Victoire's cheeks. "I've thought of precious little since."

"Honestly?" As he glimpsed the delight and wonder on Victoire's face, Neville allowed himself to imagine that there could be a future for them. She wanted him.

"Honestly." Feeling as though everything was as it should be, Neville finally allowed himself to share another kiss with her. He clasped her to him, content that he had found a new form of meaning in the colourful little witch that was Victoire Weasley.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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